


The Greatest Show

by track_04



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bad Ending, Circus, Crying, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Fisting, Forced Orgasm, Gang Rape, Hand Jobs, Hinted Danny Stoker/Tim Stoker, Loss of Virginity, Mild Gore, Multi, Other, Public Humiliation, Rape as Entertainment, Voyeurism, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-05-30 23:27:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15107000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/track_04/pseuds/track_04
Summary: Nikola patted him almost gently on the cheek. “I asked Daniel to take special care of you. And that’s exactly what he’ll do, isn’t it?”“I’ll do my best, Nikola.”“Of course you will.” Nikola leaned forward and put her face close to Martin’s ear, then whispered, “This is going to be so much fun.”





	The Greatest Show

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DecoySocktopus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DecoySocktopus/gifts).



> Your circus prompt was so good that I couldn't resist! I hope you enjoy the result (even if Martin definitely doesn't)!

Tim had been right; the dance was beautiful.

It reminded Martin of a book that his mother had given him as a child. She’d found it in a charity shop and brought it home for him, an unremarkable volume with a battered black binding and no dust jacket, the word _Degas_ splashed across the cover in faded red lettering. He’d spent hours sitting on his bed and looking at its pictures, marvelling at the beauty of the dancers captured on those pages, all light and movement and indistinct lines. He’d always wished he could be one of them, had spent hours practicing poses alone in his bedroom, staring at himself in the mirror and trying to figure out how to make his limbs look graceful.

He’d begged his mother to take him to see real dancers, but the time and the money had never been there, so the closest he’d ever come to the real thing was a tape of _The Red Shoes_ that a neighbor had given them. He’d watched it until it had snapped with overuse, had loved it completely, and it had still never quite made him feel like the images in that book. 

The Stranger’s dance was everything that the tape hadn’t been: blurred lines and bright spots of color, delicate movement and frightening hunger, the beauty of the unreal and the horror of the tangible. Watching it made him feel alive in a way that he hadn’t even known was possible.

It terrified him. Scared him more than Jane Prentiss and her creeping worms, more than the wrongness of that corridor, more than the thought of losing everyone he loved. But he still couldn’t bring himself to look away.

He probably would have stood there, watching it to its conclusion, if Jon hadn’t knocked him back against Melanie and Basira and screamed for them to run.

Martin did so without thinking, footfalls echoing hollowly up those hard stone steps and along the corridor, out into the empty streets. He followed the command in Jon's voice and didn’t stop to check if the others had run with him.

When he couldn’t run anymore, he collapsed into a heap in an alleyway, his chest aching with the realization that he’d never know how the dance was meant to end.

\--

It only took a week before they found him, huddled in a different alleyway next to a dumpster, dirty and exhausted and drifting in and out of a fitful sleep.

He should have left London at the first chance he got and tried to find someplace where he stood a better chance of being safe. Where he might not catch glimpses of blank, empty faces and skin like plastic hidden among the crowds in the streets. Where he wouldn’t find someone with their skin stitched on wrong staring at him from the back of the train. Where he wouldn’t look at everyone around him and wonder how many of them were actually still people.

It would have been the smart thing to do, and it was probably what Jon had expected, but he had no idea where to even start looking for a place like that. Or if one even still existed. 

And there was also an overly optimistic, stupidly loyal part of him that couldn’t stand the thought of leaving the others behind.

“Look what we have here.”

Martin opened his eyes and stared blearily up at the two large men in overalls looming over him, his brain too tired to make sense of what he was seeing.

One of them leaned down and grinned at him, grabbing his chin in a rough grip and tilting his head back to get a better look at his face. “He’s gotta be one of them. Maybe even the one Nikola’s been looking for.”

“That’s what you said about the last one, Hope.”

“Yeah, but I’m sure this time. Just look at his eyes, Breekon.”

The second man leaned in for a better look and squinted at Martin’s face. “They do look a bit touched, don’t they?" He waved meaty fingers in front of Martin's face. "They’ve got all that seeing going on.”

The first man nodded. “We’d best take him in, just to be sure.” 

“Yeah. And if he’s not the one, I guess Nikola can just peel him like the others. Pretty sure someone would have a good time wearin’ him.”

The man released his grip on Martin’s face, and his panic finally managed to overcome his exhaustion. He got to his feet and tried to run, making it a few feet down the alleyway before an arm around his waist stopped him, thick and impossibly heavy as it held him there. He gave a panicked yell and tried to struggle, hitting it with both hands and trying to ignore the unnatural way the flesh gave beneath his fists, both solid and shifting at once, like a bag of wet sand.

“Sorry, mate, but we’ve got to take you with us.” The man tossed him over his shoulder effortlessly, like he weighed nothing, and carried him towards a van parked at the end of the alley. “You’re Nikola’s now.”

“And she gets proper jealous about her things. Wouldn’t want her to think we’d lost one of ‘em.”

“That we wouldn’t, Breekon. That we wouldn’t.” The man opened the door to the van and tossed him inside, while the second man climbed into the driver's seat and started the van, then turned to smile at him.

"No hard feelings, I hope. Just doing our job."

\--

They carried him from the van into an empty, windowless room and dropped him unceremoniously onto the floor. He grunted at the impact and raised up onto his hands and knees, risking a look around.

He’d half-expected to see flaps of skin hung carefully up to dry and walls papered with pieces of what used to be people; what he actually got was a small storage closet lined with shelves full of clean, neatly-folded white towels. 

“This should do for now,” one of the men said and nudged him with his foot. “Oy, Beholding, we’re going to fetch Nikola. Don’t try anything funny while we’re gone.”

“But Nikola might like it if he does. She’s always up for a laugh,” the second man said, voice thoughtful. 

“Good point, Breekon.” The man nudged Martin with his foot again. “Do something funny if you like, then. Just make sure it’s something she’ll appreciate.”

“Yeah, none of them knock knock jokes. She don’t like them much.”

“No, she don’t. She don’t like them at all.” The men laughed then, the sound hollow and rehearsed, like a laugh track set to play on repeat.

There was a soft click as they turned the light off and then shut and locked the door behind them, leaving Martin alone in the dark.

He curled himself into a ball on the floor and waited.

\--

“Oh, aren’t you just lovely!” The voice that woke him was strange, high-pitched and airy, breathing in around the words in all the wrong places.

The overhead bulb was still switched off, the light that managed to leak through the cracks around the door the only thing to see by. He could make out a shape in the darkness, vaguely human and indistinct, little more than a dark outline. When it started to move closer, he could hear an odd creaking in its joints, like someone scraping two plastic spoons against one another. He scrambled away from it, stopping only when he felt his back hit one of the shelves behind him and knew he had nowhere else to go.

He squeezed his eyes shut as it knelt down, knees clicking in protest, and started to reach for him. “Please don’t.”

It laughed, high and delighted, and he felt the grip of cold plastic against his face. “I think you may be my favorite yet. What is it you don’t want me to do? I’ll almost certainly still do it, but this way we both get to know exactly what to expect.”

“Don’t hurt me,” Martin whispered, flinching as he felt one of those cold, plastic fingers tap lightly against his cheek.

“That’s a bit vague, isn’t it? You’re not giving me very much to work with.” The grip on his face tightened and he whimpered, trying to pull away, the shelf hard and unyielding behind him. “And don’t be silly. Of course I’m going to hurt you. Why wouldn’t I, after we spent so much time looking for you?” 

Martin made a choked noise as it turned his face this way and that, inspecting him. “Why--why were you looking for me?”

“Well, I couldn’t exactly let one of _you_ get away, now could I? Even if you hadn’t run--which was very naughty, by the way--you belong to Beholding. Which means you have to be punished.” It let go of his face finally but stayed close. “Your tears are absolutely lovely. Did you know that? Much prettier than anything the Archivist or any of the others have managed.”

Martin opened his eyes, a sudden spike of hope outweighing his terror. “Is Jon--are they alright?”

“Oh no, they’re not alright at all. But they are still alive. And I think they may even all be in one piece.” It hummed thoughtfully. “Mostly, anyway. I made sure they got to keep all the really important bits.”

Martin took a deep, shuddering breath, and forced himself to look at the dark silhouette where the creature’s face should have been. “Can I see them?”

“Oh, no. Certainly not. We haven’t even begun to get you ready, and I’d hate to spoil the surprise for everyone.” It stood, laughing, the shaking of its shoulders visible even through the darkness. “I have _so many_ plans for you.”

The thing stood there for a long time afterwards, watching as Martin tried and failed not to cry.

\--

The next time the creature returned it wasn’t alone.

Martin was curled up on a pile of towels that he’d made in one corner, trying to sleep in an effort to ignore the ever-present ache in his stomach from hunger and constant fear. He woke to the sound of that bright, malicious laughter, and when he opened his eyes to look for the source, there were two shapes standing in front of him in the dark.

“Just look at how scared and confused he is. Isn’t it lovely?”

He saw the second figure’s shoulders go up in a shrug and heard a soft rustling, like someone gently squeezing a bag stuffed full of dirt and dry leaves between their fingers. “Seems like any other human to me.”

“That’s only because you haven’t seen him cry.” The creature crossed the room and ran plastic fingertips through his hair; he tried to jerk his head away, but it gripped his hair tight, holding him firmly in place. “Martin, I’d like you to meet your new caretaker. He’s going to help me get you ready for our big surprise, so you’re going to be spending a lot of time together. Isn’t that exciting?”

He thought about not answering, but its grip tightened until he was afraid it might yank his hair out by the roots, and he gasped out a pained, “...yes.”

It released him and patted him almost gently on the cheek. “I asked him to take special care of you. And that’s exactly what he’ll do, isn’t it?”

He could hear the creature give another shrug. “I’ll do my best, Nikola.”

“Of course you will.” Nikola leaned forward and put her face close to Martin’s ear, then whispered, “This is going to be so much fun.”

\--

The first time he saw the eyes that belonged to the thing that Nikola had sent to take care of him, he screamed.

They were clearly glass, vacant and unblinking, like the eyes of a porcelain doll. Or a piece of taxidermy. The rest of its face looked almost painfully human, features average and unremarkable. If not for the eyes, it would have been a face that was easy to forget.

It laughed at Martin’s obvious distress, keeping those eyes fixed on him as it set a tray of food at his feet and took a seat on the floor across from him. 

Martin hugged his knees against his chest and wished that it would follow Nikola’s lead and just keep the light off.

“A bit twitchy, aren’t you?” The thing pulled a cigarette from the pack tucked into its shirt pocket and lit it, inhaling slowly. It nudged the plate toward him with its foot and didn't bother to blink. “Best eat up before it gets cold.”

“I’m not hungry,” he lied, glancing down at the plate piled high with chips and something that looked like fish. Knowing where it came from, he didn’t trust that it actually was. His stomach rumbled and he turned his head away again, staring at a stack of towels on the shelf beside him.

“You’re a terrible liar, but suit yourself.” Its tone was light and vaguely amused, like one friend teasing the other. It made him think of Tim. “But if you keep up like this, I’ll have to start feeding you myself. Nikola won’t like it if I let you starve yourself to death.”

“Why, because then she won’t be able to do awful things to me herself?”

It laughed softly. “Why else? She hates it when other people spoil her playthings.”

Martin took a shuddering breath and forced himself to look it in the eye, not letting himself flinch away at the way they stared blankly back at him. “...what is she going to do to me?”

It shrugged and took a long drag off its cigarette, not bothering to breathe the smoke back out again. “That probably depends.”

“On what?”

“Whether or not she gets bored with you.”

He swallowed. “And what happens if she does? Get bored with me.”

“She’ll peel you and make you into something she finds more interesting.” It grinned and offered Martin the cigarette, looking unsurprised when he shook his head. “You realize that’s probably the least awful thing she has planned for you.”

Martin nodded, not bothering to argue with something he knew was probably true. He let the food sit there on the plate, growing colder.

\--

He’d had a half dozen visits from the thing with the glass eyes before he finally learned its name, and even then it was only because of Nikola.

“Daniel’s been taking _such_ good care of you, hasn’t he?”

“Who?” Martin squinted up at her through the near-darkness, trying as always to make out her face; he still hadn’t gathered the courage to ask her to turn on the light.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know who Daniel is. You only see him every single day.” She must have been able to see the look of realization come over Martin’s face because she reached out to stroke his hair; coming from anyone else, it might have been comforting. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell him. He’s a monster, but I think he might still have feelings. And it might hurt them if he thought you didn’t know who he was. Especially after he’s been taking _such_ good care of you.”

Martin flinched and closed his eyes, forcing himself not to pull away. It never went well when he did. 

“Now, what do we say when someone does you a favor?”

“...thank you.”

She laughed, the sound high-pitched and broken, like someone trying to blow air through the wrong end of a recorder. “You really are a good boy, aren’t you? So much more obedient than the others.”

"Can I see them?" he asked in the same quiet tone that he had dozens of times before.

"Not yet," Nikola answered, giving him one more pat on the head before she headed for the door.

He didn’t bother turning on the light when she left. He left that to Daniel, who came in with his dinner at the usual time, looking no less wrong than he had before Martin knew he had a name.

\--

Martin woke to the sound of a pipe organ playing in the distance and Daniel seated a few feet away from him, a cigarette in one hand and a dog-eared paperback in the other. A plate of food sat on the floor between them, holding a slightly off-looking sandwich and a pile of wilted lettuce that would only pass for a salad in the most dire of circumstances.

He sat up and reached for it anyway, his stomach growling. Daniel didn’t turn to look at him or bother to acknowledge that he was there, just continued to sit in silence, smoking and reading his book. Martin stared at him warily as he chewed, watching the ashes fall from the tip of his cigarette, drifting down to add to the small pile already on the floor.

Martin finished eating and pushed the plate away, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and hating his own weakness. “How long have you been here?”

“Long enough to know you cry in your sleep.” Daniel turned to look at him finally, eyes reflecting the overhead light as he smiled. “Better not let Nikola find out. She might want to see for herself.”

Martin shuddered and looked away. “Are you going to tell her?”

Daniel looked down at the empty plate and shrugged. “Not unless she asks.”

Martin stole a look at him, but still couldn’t quite bring himself to meet his eyes. “Thank you.”

He laughed. “I wouldn’t thank me if I were you.”

\--

Nikola loved his hair.

Martin had never really thought it was all that special, had always kind of hated the color of it and the way it curled just enough at the ends to make it impossible to style in any way that looked remotely presentable. It had always been just another vaguely embarrassing part of himself, but the way Nikola touched it and crooned over it made a very small part of himself wonder if he hadn’t been wrong.

The rest of him wished that he could cut it all off just to spite her.

“The color isn’t as pretty today.” He could hear Nikola frowning at Daniel through the dark. Her hand was resting on top of his head, her fingers idly combing through his hair, the feel of the plastic against his scalp cold and uncomfortable.

“Probably because it’s dirty.” There was a soft rustling as Daniel shrugged. “Human hair does that.”

“How inconvenient. That won’t do, will it?” Nikola patted his head and stood, her silhouette bending in impossible ways as she rose from the floor. “We’re going to have to do something about that.”

“Sure thing,” Daniel said and lit another cigarette, the flame from his lighter lighting up the dark just long enough for Martin to catch a glimpse of the bright red of Nikola’s jacket and one pale, oddly jointed hand.

\--

“What are you doing here?” Martin stared up at Daniel in the doorway, his hands uncharacteristically empty. “It can’t be time for you to be here. I’m not hungry yet.”

“Observant, aren’t you?” Daniel arched an eyebrow, the effect unsettling when paired with his unmoving eyes. “I’m not here to feed you.”

“Then why--”

“Because Nikola said so. Now, get up and follow me.” Daniel smiled slowly at him. “And bring some towels.”

It took Martin a minute to gather the courage to do as he asked, his hands shaking as he pulled a stack of towels off one of the shelves and stood, legs still half-asleep as he limped out into the hallway where Daniel was waiting for him. He glanced around nervously, a bit thrown off to be standing somewhere that wasn’t that tiny, windowless room. He’d almost forgotten that there was more to the world than those four walls.

The building was silent as Daniel lead him down the corridor, the only sound that of their footsteps and the distant, echoing song of a pipe organ somewhere outside. Martin looked around him as they walked, stealing peeks through any open doorways that they passed. He told himself it was so he’d know which way to run if he ever got the chance, but even as he thought it, he knew it wasn’t true; he didn’t have it in him to run again. He really just wanted to know where it was that they were keeping him. Part of him hoped that maybe they were keeping the others here, too.

He didn't see anyone else, but he did discover that they were in what appeared to be a particularly posh gym, one of those places with glossy ads showing off beautiful people smiling and laughing as they cycled and lifted weights in stylish rooms, all without breaking a sweat. It was the kind of place he never would have been able to afford and would have felt too uncomfortable to even dream of going inside, which made it seem even more surreal that he was, for all intents and purposes, living in one of them.

He was so busy marvelling at that particular bit of weirdness that, for the few minutes it took for Daniel to lead him down the corridor and into one of the facility’s changing rooms, he forgot to be afraid.

Daniel opened a door to one of the stalls--clean, blue-green frosted glass with a shining chrome handle that probably matched the showerhead inside--and turned to him with a smirk. “Put the towels on that bench over there and strip.”

Martin stared at him, open-mouthed and unsure how to respond to that. Daniel’s smile widened, and he remembered to be afraid. “No. I don’t need--”

"You don't get to decide what you need." Daniel looked almost amused. “Nikola said she wants you clean, and Nikola gets what she wants. So you can either take your clothes off and we can do it now, or I can call in the big guys to do it. And they’re not nearly as nice as I am.”

“Can I do it myself?” Martin whispered, his voice catching on the final word. His hands shook where they clutched the towels against his chest. It made him feel like an idiot, standing there and wanting to cry over having to take a shower. 

“No, you can’t.” Daniel sighed, looking less amused as he crossed the room, stopping in front of Martin so he could pry the towels from his hands and place them on the long white bench set against the wall behind them.

The shaking in Martin’s hands worsened once they were empty; he clutched at the dirty fabric of his trouser, eyes wide and breathing shallow as he listened for Daniel’s footsteps behind him. He half-expected him to make good on his threat and go find someone bigger and meaner and let them deal with it. It would have been no more than he deserved, really. He’d been here long enough to know how this worked, and telling them no was never an option. Nikola always got what she wanted in the end.

Daniel stepped in front of Martin again and started to unbutton his shirt. “You’d think you’d be happy about this. You’re starting to get a bit ripe.”

Martin didn’t answer, just stood there on trembling legs and watched as Daniel peeled the clothing from his body with a well-practiced efficiency, pulling the fabric from his skin in a way that made it look almost like he was skinning him.

“Old habits,” Daniel said and smiled, dropping the last of Martin’s clothing into the pile on the floor at their feet. He put a hand on Martin’s arm, and it was all he could do not to pull away from that touch, Daniel’s fingers unnaturally dry and smooth against his skin. Like bits of old leather.

But Martin wasn’t brave enough to pull away, and when Daniel started to pull him toward the open shower stall, he let himself be lead.

There was a stool set in the middle of it, a sturdy-looking thing with a black metal frame that was more about utility than style and had obviously been brought in from elsewhere. Martin sat on it without waiting for further prompting, hissing a little at the cold seat against the back of his thighs. He stared down at the expensive-looking grey tile flooring and hunched in on himself, shivering from a combination of cold and fear.

“See? It’s not so hard.” Daniel didn’t bother to turn the shower head to the wall when he turned on the water, letting the first cold blast hit Martin full in the back. 

Martin yelped and tried to move out of the way, but Daniel put a hand on his thigh and held him there while the water slowly warmed. Once it had, he moved his hand from Martin’s thigh and reached up, tilting Martin’s head back beneath the stream of now-warm water.

He closed his eyes and tried to pretend that he was back in his apartment, enjoying a shower after a long day at work, but it wasn’t an easy illusion to maintain with Daniel’s strange, heavy hands touching him. They started working shampoo into his hair, something that smelled minty and made his scalp tingle pleasantly, and he shuddered.

When Daniel was finished rinsing his hair he started on the rest of him, using a soap that had that same mint smell and felt expensive against his skin. In any other circumstances, Martin thought he would have asked after the brand and bought some of his own, saving it to use on special occasions. Even now, the way it made his skin feel made it easier to ignore Daniel’s hands moving over his body, touching every part of him. 

Daniel was thorough in the way he cleaned him, taking his time and paying extra attention to find all the hidden parts of him, making sure they were just as clean as the rest. The water was almost too hot by the time he started to rinse the soap from Martin’s skin, the sting of it enough to make Martin give a weak protest and shift against the stool.

“Almost done,” Daniel said, but it sounded like it was meant as an observation and not reassurance. 

Martin opened his eyes as Daniel switched off the water, watching warily as he looked him over and, seeming satisfied, left to retrieve a towel. Martin sat there in silence, his hair dripping down the back of his neck and his skin starting to cool. 

The drying managed to be less embarrassing than the washing, but Martin couldn’t decide if that was because it was somehow less invasive or he’d just reached a point where he couldn’t muster the energy to be as bothered by it. Daniel was just as thorough with it as he had been with everything else, taking his time and carefully drying the space between each of his fingers. When he finished, he draped the towel over the stool and stepped back to survey his work.

Martin stared at the floor in front of him, arms dangling limply by his sides. “...can I have my clothes back?”

“Why? You’re not exactly going anywhere that you’ll need them.” 

“Because it’s cold,” Martin whispered, shivering as Daniel circled around to stand behind him. “Please?”

“You really need to work on your lying,” Daniel said. 

Martin didn’t look to see if he was rolling his eyes at him. He didn’t want to know what that looked like, if it was even possible with those eyes.

There was the soft click of a bottle opening and Daniel’s hands touched his shoulders, fingers cold and slick against his skin. Martin made a surprised noise and tried to pull away, but Daniel gripped one of his shoulders to hold him still. “It’s just lotion.”

Martin let out a shaky breath, half-laugh and half-something else, and forced himself not to move. “I don’t usually bother with lotion.”

“I can tell.” Daniel worked his hands down Martin’s back slowly, taking care to work the lotion into each patch of skin completely before moving on to the next. “But Nikola wants you soft. You should probably want it, too.”

Martin shuddered. “Because it will keep her happy?”

“Because it’ll be easier for her to peel you.” He stopped touching him just long enough to get more lotion and then moved onto his arms, lingering a bit when he reached his hands. “Trust me, you don’t want it coming off in bits and pieces. I’ve been around to see a few of those and they’re always so messy. And the end result always looks terrible.”

Martin made a choked noise, hands shaking as Daniel finished with them and moved on to his chest. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay still while Daniel touched him with his strange, leathery hands. He wondered if Daniel would want to be there when it happened, holding him down with his heavy fingers and watching while Nikola peeled his skin away in long, bloody strips. He couldn’t decide if that would make it better or worse.

The thought was interrupted when Daniel's hands reached his cock and he started to spread lotion over it with the same slow, lingering movements that he’d used on the rest of him.

“Stop,” he said and tried to step away from him, only to find Daniel’s other hand pressed against his stomach, holding him firmly in place. “Daniel--”

“I don’t think you’ve ever called me that before.” The laughter in his ear was almost too bored to be cruel. Martin turned his head so he didn't have to hear it and whimpered as Daniel pulled his foreskin back, running slick fingers over the head of his cock. He could feel his body starting to react to the treatment and he bit his lip to hold back a moan, hating that some part of him, however small, seemed to be enjoying this.

“Please stop.”

“And why would I do that? I'm not done yet.”

“I haven’t ever--” Martin trailed off, tears starting to gather in the corners of his eyes. "Please just stop."

“Really?” He hummed thoughtfully to himself, giving Martin’s cock a few more careful strokes before he released him. “I guess a little more waiting won’t hurt you, then, will it?”

Martin shook his head, hugging his arms against his chest. Daniel reached for the lotion and made him stand there, half-hard and shivering, while he knelt to finish with his legs and feet. Martin stared at the far wall, flinching every time Daniel touched him.

When he was finally done, Daniel left briefly and returned to drape something warm and soft across Martin’s shoulders. 

Martin turned his head to look at it and found a robe, fluffy and white, and reached up to touch it with shaking fingers. “I thought you said--”

“I said you didn’t need your clothes,” Daniel reminded him, back to sounding faintly amused as he helped him put it on. He tied the sash a bit too tightly around his waist, but Martin didn't complain. “But it is a bit drafty in here, and humans can be so delicate. I don’t think Nikola would be very happy if I let you die of pneumonia.”

Martin nodded and crossed his arms over his chest again. “Thank you.”

Daniel put a hand on Martin’s back, laughing quietly at the way he flinched, and steered him towards the door. “You really need to stop thanking me.”

\--

“You’re coming along so nicely, aren’t you?” Nikola ran a hand along his arm, pausing occasionally to pinch and pull at his flesh, testing his skin’s give. “You’re already so soft. Daniel’s done such a good job with you.”

From the corner of his eye, Martin could see the end of Daniel’s cigarette glowing a faint orange in the dark.

Nikola gave him a particularly vicious pinch, humming with satisfaction when he gasped in pain. “You might be the softest one yet. Even softer than that sad little friend of yours, and he’s very soft after all the special attention he’s been getting.”

Martin stared at the shadow where her face might have been and tried not to be too hopeful. “...do you mean Jon?”

“The Archivist? Oh, no. He’s not nearly as soft as either of you.” She moved her hand up to his neck, the cold plastic of her thumb pressing against his windpipe. He shivered and held himself very, very still. “I meant the one with the pretty eyes. They’re such a beautiful color. Almost as nice as this hair of yours. I may have to take them for myself if I ever decide he doesn’t need them anymore.”

“You mean Tim?” Martin whispered, breath catching as Nikola stroked her thumb against his throat.

"Yes, I think that's what he used to call himself." Nikola pressed her thumb in just enough to make it hard for him to breathe. “Maybe when I take his eyes, I’ll take your hair, too. They’d look lovely together, don’t you think?”

He coughed and tried not to let the relief show in his face when Nikola moved her hand back to his arm.

“But we shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves, should we? I don’t suppose I’m ready to take either of them yet.” She sighed, sounding almost disappointed. “And we have something much more important to talk about.”

“...what’s that?”

“You, of course. Daniel told me that you’ve been a very good boy with him. And I think that deserves a reward, don’t you?” 

Martin started to shake his head but then stopped himself, nodding hesitantly instead. “I--yes?”

“Of course it does! And you know, I was a little worried when I came here, because I knew you deserved _something_ , but I couldn’t for the life of me think of anything the least bit interesting.” She clapped her hands together, the sound they made hollow. “But you’ve just given me the best idea. Aren’t you excited?”

Martin swallowed and gave another jerky nod.

“Of course you are. But I’m afraid you’ll have to wait.” She patted him on the head almost absently as she stood, her laughter echoing through the room. “It’s not quite ready, and I want it to be _absolutely perfect_.”

He didn’t respond to that, but for once she didn’t seem to expect him to, turning on her heel and heading for the door without so much as a backward glance. Daniel stayed there until he finished his cigarette and Martin watched it burn through the dark, praying that the next time Nikola showed up, it wouldn’t be to show off her new eyes.

\--

Martin spent the next week waiting for Nikola to follow through on her promise, equal parts dreading it and wanting it to be over with already.

It made it hard to sleep, being constantly on edge, expecting her to burst through the door at any moment wearing parts of his friends. Daniel wasn’t much help, either, bringing Martin his meals and dragging him off for showers, refusing to answer his questions and being completely unaffected by Martin’s worry.

When the moment finally came, he was almost too exhausted to feel anything.

“Here.” Daniel dropped a pair of cheap plastic flip-flops onto the floor in front of him. 

“What are these for?” Martin stared up at him, trying to make sense of what was happening. Nothing he did around here required shoes.

“Put them on. We’re going outside.”

“Outside?” Martin reached out to touch one of them hesitantly, like it might burn him. “What’s outside?”

“Nikola wants you to see for yourself.” Daniel shrugged. “So, I guess you’d better put them on and follow me if you want to find out.”

Martin briefly considered saying no, just to see what would happen. If Daniel would actually be surprised for once. But the thought didn’t last, because he knew no still wasn’t an option for him. And if he refused now, they might not offer him the chance to go outside again.

The thought of spending the rest of his life in that small room, his only relief the occasional trip down the hall to the showers, was what decided it for him. He stood and slipped the shoes onto his feet, ignoring the way his heels hung off their back edge, and gave Daniel an expectant look.

Daniel smirked and held the door to his room open for him, motioning him out into the hall.

\--

It was night outside, but the streets were anything but dark. He could still feel the day’s heat coming off the pavement, rising in waves as he stood there in his borrowed shoes, staring up at the strands of lights dangling above him. The bulbs were multicolored and twinkled playfully, seeming to pulse in time to the music from the pipe organ that he could hear playing in the distance. It looked like someone had flung them haphazardly between buildings, looping them back and forth until they crossed over one another in a dizzying pattern that shone web-like against the night sky.

Beneath and between the lights, he could see the bulky shape of buildings draped in garish cloth, bright strips of silk that had been flung from windows and roof tops until you could see almost nothing of the brick and stone beneath them. Scattered among them were banners twice his height covered in cartoonish script and aggressively cheerful illustrations, advertising sideshows and exotic animals and all the wonders that the Circus of the Other had to offer.

On the building in front of him was a banner showing a pair of dancers, the colors of their costume almost as blinding as their smiles as they stood poised, ready to begin their dance. Martin felt his breath catch in his throat and he looked away quickly, trying to focus on something else as he felt an almost-forgotten longing rise inside of him.

Someone had pitched tents in the open spaces between buildings and they filled the streets and alleyways, their colors bright and welcoming, beckoning for him to come closer and see what they had to offer. He watched as an elderly couple entered a tent just to his left, smiling and chatting happily with each other, either unwilling or unable to hear the screams that escaped every time someone pushed aside the tent's flap and stepped inside.

It was then that he noticed the crowds around him, people everywhere, smiling and laughing and looking far-too-human as they took in the sights. He watched two women eating candy floss step over a trickle of blood flowing out of the doorway of a bright green tent across from him; it shone dark red against the pavement, reflecting the twinkling of the lights above it. One of the women stopped to wipe a bit of red from her shoe, looking faintly annoyed, and then she and her friend walked away, still passing the candy floss back and forth between them.

He was so caught up in taking in the sights around him that it took him far too long to recognize the buildings hidden beneath the lights and banners and realize that they were standing in the middle of Covent Garden. Or the place that used to be called Covent Garden, before the dance had changed everything and Nikola had claimed it for her own.

Daniel touched his arm and nodded his head toward a tent set up at the far end of the square, twice as large as the others and far more ominous. “This way.”

Martin wanted to say no, but he also wanted to see what was inside that tent, so he let himself be lead away through the crowd.

\--

The inside of the tent was massive, larger than should have been possible in the space available. It spread out dark and looming around him, strands of lights wound around its tent poles and strung between them, creating a swirling pattern that looked both more and less deliberate than the one outside. Unlike the ones outside, these bulbs were all tinged a faint red, making it look like the interior of the tent was covered in a thin layer of blood.

He looked away, trying not to think about it as Daniel lead them around the edge of the centre ring, to an empty spot in the stands. The chatter of the crowd around them was excited, almost manic as they took their seats.

Silence fell over the tent as the house lights dimmed and the crowd shifted, impatient for the show to begin. A spotlight came on, illuminating a figure standing in the middle of the centre ring, head bowed as it swayed slightly to music that no one else could hear. It was long-limbed and graceful, skin painted in the bright, shifting colors that could only belong to the dance.

Martin made a needy sound and leaned forward in his seat as a familiar, silent tune began to play. 

Daniel put a hand on his thigh to keep him from rising. “We’re just here to watch.”

Martin turned to look at him, wanting to ask why, but when he opened his mouth there was nothing but silence. Daniel squeezed his hand around his thigh, digging his fingers in just enough to hurt, and he turned his attention back to the center of the tent and that strange, beautiful figure.

It was just as beautiful as he remembered. Martin thought that he would have been happy to stay there like that, breathing in its colors and listening to something that wasn't music, knowing that soon enough, the dance would begin.

The silence around them swelled and there was a sharp click as spotlights turned on one-by-one, lighting up the edges of the ring and showing the dancers gathered there, limbs held in impossible poses as they stood there motionless, waiting.

The figure in the center slowly lifted its head. Martin gripped the edges of his seat and leaned forward, breath catching at that first sign of movement. The spotlight caught its face, lighting it up, and Martin realized with horror that it wasn’t a dancer. It was Tim.

The colors they'd painted on his skin only covered part of his face, letting Martin see the fear and anticipation written across his features.

It broke the spell enough for Martin to try calling out to him; he screamed Tim’s name over and over again, yelling himself hoarse without ever managing to make a sound. Daniel held him against his chair and let him scream until his throat was bloody, and Tim stood just there, never so much as glancing Martin’s way.

The dance started not with music, but with the sound of quiet footsteps across the sand as a dancer made its way out of the darkness, crossing the ring to where Tim stood. It was more beautiful than the others, its colors brighter and its movements more graceful, the dress made of gore that hung from its shoulders shifting delicately beneath the spotlight as it circled Tim slowly. 

Tim swayed to that music that no one else could hear and turned to look at it, his face wet with tears and his eyes wide with something other than fear.

The dancer reached out, trailing a finger down his arm until it reached his hand and Tim gasped; Martin could see the colors on his skin shift beneath that touch, growing brighter, twinkling in time with the fairy lights strung across the edges of the tent. He watched as the dancer wound its fingers through Tim’s, and he fought back the surge of jealousy he could feel rising within him, horrified by the intensity of it.

Tim made a sound of desperation and relief and stepped closer, pressing himself briefly against the dancer before it spun him away again, their fingers still wound together. Martin could feel the dancer smile as it lifted its other hand, signalling the others, and then the dance began.

It was more beautiful than Martin remembered, the way the dancers moved making him dizzy with terror and need. They twirled around the empty space, the only music the soft swishing of the sand beneath their feet, their colors filling up his vision until he had trouble remembering a world where they didn’t exist or a time before he’d seen their beauty.

Tim stayed trapped in the center of that swirling mass of color, face horrified and elated as the lead dancer twirled him around the ring, stopping occasionally to run a hand down his stomach or up his thigh, letting the crowd revel in the way he shivered. Martin’s hands twitched and his feet ached with the need to join in, the still unbroken part of him sick at the jealousy that he could feel hanging like a weight in the pit of his stomach.

He didn’t notice the platform that had appeared in the center of the ring until the dancer was urging Tim onto it; there was a blank, almost blissful look on his face as the dancer pushed his legs apart and stroked his hair, beckoning one of his fellows forward with a delicate curl of one of its many-colored fingers.

It flowed out of its place in the circle and stopped behind Tim, shapeless hands reaching out to touch him, running up the backs of his thighs. Tim shifted against the podium, restless until the lead dancer ran a hand through his hair and he stilled again. The dancer behind him stepped closer, shifting its skirts and gripping Tim’s hips as a part of it, just as bright and beautiful as the rest, pushed its way inside of him.

Tim cried out and pushed his hips back, trying to get closer as the dancer took him. Martin could feel the lead dancer smiling as it stroked Tim’s hair, pleased. It watched as its fellow took him, Tim's body stretching around the bright colors inside of him. The lead waited until it was finished and had drifted back to its place in the circle before it lifted its finger again and called a second dancer forward.

It went on like that for what felt like an eternity, the dancers moving out of their circle and taking their place behind Tim one-by-one until they’d all had their turn. It was as beautiful as the rest of it, the way Tim cried out each time they entered him, fingers clawing at the platform beneath him while the lead dancer stroke his hair and whispered its silent approval.

When the last dancer in the circle had finished with him, the lead waved its hand, dismissing the others, and helped Tim stand. It looked at him, fondness in its non-existent eyes, and held him close, pressing its formless face against his. Tim leaned into it just long enough to return the kiss-that-wasn’t and then away again, his expression broken as the spotlights went out, casting the center ring into darkness.

The sound of the crowd slowly filled the tent again and Martin sat there, staring at the place where Tim had been until Daniel stood and pulled him to his feet with a knowing smile.

\--

The room where they kept him seemed smaller now that he’d seen the lights of the circus.

“Why did you show me that?”

Daniel stood in the doorway, watching him with his strange, unmoving eyes. “Because Nikola told me to.”

“Why? Is that what she has planned for me, too?” Martin couldn’t tell if his voice shook out of fear or anticipation. 

Daniel smiled faintly. “Of course not. You’re not really dance material, are you?”

Martin actually laughed at that, the sound quiet and broken, and started to cry. He stared down at the floor, hoping that Daniel wouldn’t notice, and told himself he was crying for Tim’s sake and not his own.

Daniel stepped forward, letting the door swung shut behind him with a sharp click. When he spoke, he sounded almost surprised. “Nikola was right.”

Martin swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand and refused to look up. “About what?”

“You really are something when you cry.”

Martin watched as Daniel’s feet moved into his line of vision, stopping just in front of him. He felt Daniel’s hand on his hair, heavy and wrong, and he closed his eyes. “Please don’t make me watch that again.”

“That’s not my decision,” Daniel said, his voice matter-of-fact as Martin leaned into him, resting his forehead against his shoulder. Martin ignored the way Daniel's flesh shifted oddly beneath his shirt.

They stayed like that for several silent minutes until Martin had finally had enough and pulled away, hastily wiping at his eyes. “Sorry. I just--seeing Tim.”

"You don't really believe that's all it is, do you?"

Martin stood there in silence, refusing to answer him, and Daniel shrugged, reaching for the tie on Martin’s robe. He tugged it loose and then reached down, pushing the fabric aside.

“What are you doing?” Martin reached down to try to pull it shut again, but Daniel gripped his wrists and stared pointedly down at his cock, already half-hard.

“What Nikola asked me to do.” Daniel backed him up against a nearby shelf and pinned his hands above his head with one of his own. “Taking care of you.”

“I don’t need--,” Martin said, voice catching as Daniel reached down with his free hand to stroke him, his palm warm and rough around him. “I’m fine--really. Please stop.”

"We both know you're not going to take care of it yourself." Daniel leaned in to whisper in his ear, “If you close your eyes, you can even pretend I’m a dancer.”

“No.” Martin squirmed, trying to twist his hips away from him, but Daniel’s grip on his wrists was firm, so all he managed to do was push his cock further into the circle of Daniel’s fist. 

Daniel laughed at the way Martin shivered and continued to stroke him, his grip just tight enough to hurt. Martin could feel his body responding anyway, his cock fully hard and leaking as Daniel pulled back and looked down between them, watching the movement of his own hand with an almost clinical sort of fascination. He paused to run a thumb over the head, spreading the moisture gathered there with the same focus that he had when smoothing lotion into his skin.

Martin groaned and turned his head to the side so he wouldn’t have to see Daniel watching him. It was what he'd always wanted, someone to look at him like he was actually interesting. He wondered if Daniel knew that, had somehow been able to guess, or if it was just an awful coincidence.

Daniel kept his hand moving, working him closer to completion, the sounds that Martin was trying not to make and the slide of skin against skin the only thing to break the silence of the room. 

Martin tried not to think about the dance or Tim, telling himself it was better to focus on the thing that was doing this to him if he had to focus on anything at all; But when he finally came, it was to the memory of chaotic swirls of color and Tim’s fingertips clawing at the surface of the podium.

Daniel waited until he was finished and then let him go, pulling a towel off of the shelf behind him and using it to wipe him clean. When that was done to his satisfaction, he tied Martin’s robe closed again, his hands almost gentle. “I’ll tell Nikola you enjoyed your reward.”

Martin stood there for a long time after he left, staring at the dirty towel lying on the floor, trying not to think of the dance.

\--

It became another part of their routine after that, Daniel taking him out every few days, walking him around between the tents and letting him see what Nikola’s circus had to offer.

He saw the sideshow, with the things that had once been people but were now just impossibly moving bits of meat and bone; the clowns, who pulled people from the audience and into the centre ring where they laughed and laughed, not bothering to stop even after they were little more than a bloody smear on the floor; the tightrope walkers and trapeze artists, who stared down at him from above with their empty, endless blue eyes; and even the animals, their eyes unmoving like Daniel's as they leapt through hoops and then sat in the middle of the sand and sawdust of the ring afterwards, feasting lazily on the people that Nikola had laid out as a reward.

He saw more things than he cared to remember, but he never caught more than far-off glimpses of faces that he thought might belong to his friends. Whenever he stopped to point them out to Daniel, he just smiled and told him to be patient before leading him away again.

Daniel didn’t take him to see the dance again, but Martin thought he could still feel it happening, could hear when that music that wasn’t there started to play in the distance. On those nights, he huddled in the corner of his room, his hands over his ears until Daniel came in and undressed him, his hands an unwanted distraction.

After the first few times it happened, Martin stopped trying not to think about the dance while Daniel touched him, started welcoming those brief memories of movement and light as he came.

He still hated himself every time it happened.

\--

The next time Nikola came to visit him, she turned on the light for the first time.

Her face, much to his relief, didn’t have a familiar pair of eyes staring back at him. It didn't have any eyes at all, the space where they should left empty and unfinished.

It didn’t have a nose or cheeks or eyebrows either, or anything to really make it a proper face. The basic shape was there, sculpted out of smooth, white plastic, but the details were all missing, save for a pair of lips set against the plastic just a little to the right of the place where they should have been. He could see a faint red tracing their edges, smeared into the plastic beneath them. He tried not to think about the sounds they would have made as Nikola cut them free and took them for her own.

Nikola’s blank face watched him, taking in his look of horror, and those lips curled into a smile. “It’s so nice to finally meet properly like this, isn’t it?”

Martin continued to stare, not knowing what he would have said to that even if he’d been able to manage words. He could see Daniel standing just behind her, his smile more subdued than usual, and he felt fear crawl up the back of his throat, sharp and sudden.

“Oh, don’t look so sad! This is the day we’ve all been waiting for. You’re finally ready for more!”

“More what?” He managed to squeeze the words past the lump in his throat, his voice catching as she moved closer.

“More of everything,” she said, lifting her hand to show him the straight-edged razor that she had clutched there, the metal bright and flawless as she twisted her hand, letting the blade catch the light. “Aren’t you excited?”

He shook his head and backed slowly away from her, moving until his back hit the shelves and he couldn’t do anything but stand there, watching her draw closer. He could see Daniel over her shoulder, still standing in the doorway and watching the scene unfold with his blank eyes.

“Please don’t,” he whispered as Nikola stopped in front of him, her borrowed lips still smiling their broken, bloody smile. “I’ll do whatever you want me to. Just don’t--”

“Of course you will. Everyone does what I want in the end.” She ran plastic fingers through his hair and hummed appreciatively. “It really is _such_ a lovely color.”

Martin yelped and tried to pull away from the touch, but her fingers closed around his hair in a vise-like grip. She wound it between her fingers and tugged, forcing his head back onto the shelf, leaving his throat fully exposed. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes and Nikola laughed, light and airy.

“It’s not all that bad, is it?” Cold, sharp metal pressed against his forehead and he jerked slightly, trying to pull away, but Nikola held him fast. “This is what we’ve all been working toward, after all. And now we get to see the results of all that hard work.”

He jerked his head to the side and there was a sharp sting as the metal dug into his skin, slicing a thin line across his forehead and sending a warm trickle of blood into his eyes. 

Nikola’s lips twisted into a frown. “Now look what you made me do.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, blinking rapidly to try to clear the blood from his eyes. He thought about how pleased Daniel had looked after he’d finished cleaning him the last few times, how soft his skin had felt beneath his own fingertips when he’d run a finger up and down his arm when he was alone in the dark. He thought about how casually Daniel had talked about Nikola peeling him, and there was a part of him that was unsurprised it had taken her so little time to grow bored with him.

She gave his hair another tug and he whimpered, his panic enough to make him start to beg. “Please just kill me first. Kill me before you do it. Please.”

Nikola trailed the edge of the razorblade against his skin, touch light, almost careful as she traced a path up to his hairline and stopped. In his panic, it took him a moment to realize that she hadn’t cut him again. “Don’t be silly. If I kill you, it won’t grow back.” 

Martin started to sob, watching her with wide eyes as he readied himself for a pain that never came. “Please.”

“You’re even prettier when you beg. I may have to make you do it more often.” Nikola smiled viciously as she drug the edge of the blade against his scalp, not to peel it away so she could take it for her own, but so she could slowly, deliberately remove his hair. She collected the clumps of it in her hand as they came free, showing them to him with a quiet laugh before she set them on the shelf behind him, then moved back to repeat the process.

Martin watched her, wincing with every scrape of the blade against his scalp and waiting for her to change her mind and start to unmake him.

When she’d gotten everything she could reach from the front, she pushed him onto his knees on the floor and knelt in front of him, holding him there and forcing his head forward so she could scrape the back of his skull clean.

He stared at the dull grey tile below him, watching as a few lazy drops of blood fell onto it from his forehead, and hated himself a little for feeling almost grateful to her, that she wasn’t taking anything from him that he couldn’t afford to spare. He’d felt something similar with Daniel, gratitude that he’d only touched him and hadn’t gone further, and he hated himself for that, too.

He could hear Nikola speaking to him, her words a playful counterpoint to the soft sound of the razor against his skin, but his mind refused to make sense of them. He watched the drops of his blood run together on the floor and waited for it to be over.

By the time she was done, he was too exhausted to do anything but stare into the blank space where her eyes should have been as she forced his head up and leaned in to survey her work. 

“Your tears look even better like this.” She smiled at him one last time and released him, leaving him leaning forward onto his elbows on the floor. “I can’t wait to finally show you off. It won't be long now.”

He heard the door swing shut as she left, taking Daniel with her, and then he was once again alone.

\--

They left him alone for a day after that, but Martin didn’t fool himself into believing that it was out of any sort of kindness. The time alone only made his fear worse, his mind replaying the scene over and over again, making him relive the feel of cold metal against his skin and the complete and utter certainty that he was about to be taken apart slowly, piece by painful piece.

He left the light on, not wanting to be alone in the dark, and ran his hands back and forth across his scalp, wondering how long it would be until he stopped being able to hold her interest. He’d never been good at keeping anyone’s attention, and he couldn't make himself believe it would be different with her just because she was a monster. Even Prentiss had only really seemed to want him because she knew it would be an inconvenience to Jon.

He was still lying there contemplating when Daniel came for him, not bothering to greet him as he knelt on the floor beside him and helped him stand. He half-lead, half-carried him down the hall to the shower and Martin didn't try to fight him. He took a seat on the stool without being asked, too tired to do anything but let it happen.

Daniel cleaned him with the same thoroughness that he always did, paying special attention to the cut on his forehead and his freshly shaven head. Martin wondered if Nikola would let his hair grow back before shaving him again or if a bare scalp was just another thing he'd have to get used to.

When they were done in the shower, Daniel lead him over to one of the room’s long benches and urged him down onto it until he was lying on his back. Martin stared at a small stain on one of the ceiling tiles and waited. “Are you taking me to see a show tonight?”

There was a soft click as Daniel opened the bottle of lotion. “No. Nikola has something planned for you.”

“Another reward?”

“I guess that depends on how you look at it.” Daniel’s hands nudged his thighs and he spread them obediently, without thinking. 

“Do I want to know what it is?”

“No.” Daniel pressed one hand against Martin’s hips and pushed the other between his thighs, slipping a slick finger inside of him before Martin had time to realize what was happening. 

Martin felt the fear flood back into him as Daniel prodded at him, sliding his finger deeper. He tried to shift away from it, but Daniel’s hand kept his hips pinned against the bench. “What are you doing?”

“Getting you ready.” 

“...ready for what?” 

“I don’t think Nikola would want me to spoil the surprise,” Daniel said and started to move his finger inside of him. 

Martin tried to press his thighs together, thinking that he could at least manage that, but Daniel rested his knee between them on the bench, keeping him spread open, unconcerned with Martin's attempts to struggle. He slid a second finger in alongside the first, ignoring the way Martin arching his back and gasped in pain. “If you keep doing that, it will take longer.”

Martin gave an ineffectual push at Daniel’s hand and then went still, staring up into his empty eyes. He’d almost learned to deal with the rest of it, but there had still been an unspoken line that Daniel had never crossed; he’d let himself believe it was out of kindness because it was easier, even if he'd always known, deep down, that that wasn't the case.

Daniel seemed to take his silence for agreement and kept working on him, the soft squelching of his fingers and Martin’s heavy breathing the only sounds in the room. He moved his hand from Martin’s hip to his thigh, caressing it as he spread his fingers roughly inside of him. Martin arched against the bench and moaned, trying to ignore his cock resting against his stomach, fully hard and aching.

Daniel’s fingers were slick with too much lotion as he worked them deeper, pressing against places inside of Martin that no one else had ever touched before. He clung to the edge of the bench and shook with the effort not to rock his hips against them. If Daniel noticed, he didn't care, too focused on the way his fingers disappeared inside Martin's body.

Martin felt his body start to tense and grabbed at Daniel’s wrist, trying to still his hand. “Please don't. Don't make me.”

Daniel looked him in the eye as he fucked his fingers in and out of him, slowly and deliberately, ignoring the way Martin clawed at his wrist. "It will be better for you if you do."

Martin shook his head and tried to dig his fingernails into the unyielding skin of Daniel's wrist, his breath escaping him in a panicked sob. "Please."

Daniel gave a few more thrusts of his fingers and then sighed, taking his time as he withdrew them, letting Martin feel the way his body stretched around them. He looked almost disappointed as he picked up a towel to clean his hand and then used it to wipe the excess lotion from Martin's thighs. "I suppose you're as ready as you're going to get."

“Thank you," Martin whispered, feeling far too grateful as Daniel helped him sit up again.

"There's nothing to be thankful for." Daniel laughed quietly and brushed a thumb across one of his tear-stained cheeks. "This will be worse for you, in the end."

\--

The crowd was silent.

Martin couldn’t decide if that made things better or worse; he could close his eyes and not have to hear them, could try to pretend that they just weren’t there. But even then, he could still feel them, their eyes like a weight on his back, pushing him down and pinning him in place.

Daniel was the one who lead him to center stage, his fingers warm and dry against Martin’s back as he urged him toward the platform waiting for them. It wasn’t bare, like it had been with Tim, the colors of the dancers enough to make even the bare wood look beautiful. 

The cloth they’d draped across it was garish, the colors bright and festive, threads of gold and silver woven throughout. They caught the lights, shimmering beautifully, and Martin had a moment where he could see the dance before him, the memory of that light and color and beauty making his chest ache. He started to sway on his feet, like Tim had, his body wanting to move to the rhythm of that memory.

Daniel caught him and urged him forward, bending him over the platform and rested his too-dry fingertips against the back of Martin’s neck, touch enough to keep him there if he tried to struggle. 

Martin didn’t struggle. He stared out at the crowd, a faceless, indistinct mass tucked into the shadows just out of reach of the house lights, and tried to remember to breathe. It was as silent as it had been when he was seated there with Daniel, watching Tim dance, and for a brief, dark moment, he let himself hope.

It died when Nikola’s voice came over a loudspeaker, booming through the tent loud enough to make his bones ache.

“And now, for something you’ve all been waiting for. The very last member of the Archivist’s staff, Martin Blackwood!”

The crowd didn’t cheer, the tent still painfully quiet as the last echoes of Nikola’s voice faded, but they didn’t need to. Martin could feel their excitement, like a living thing pressing against him, trying to worm its way inside his chest. He closed his eyes, blocking out what little he could see of them, and willed the sensation to pass. 

“That’s right, it’s very exciting! And this one is _very_ special. And do you know what makes him so special?” He felt Nikola’s hand on his bare scalp suddenly, plastic and hollow beneath its stolen skin. When she spoke again, her voice was a stage whisper. Martin could feel the crowd lean forward in their seats. “He’s a _virgin_. Or very nearly one, anyway. Can you believe it?”

There was another wave of that same silent cry of pleasure and amusement from the crowd; Martin shivered against the platform and kept his eyes shut tight. He would have begged Nikola to just get on with it if he could have managed the words.

“That’s what I said!” She lifted her hand from his head, and the next time she spoke her voice was further away, less able to set his teeth on edge. “And I can’t just let something that lovely go to waste. So I thought I’d let you all see exactly how we deal with someone so _special_.”

Silent laughter rippled through the crowd, a vindictive, static lack of sound that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Martin thought about shoving Daniel off of him and trying to run. He got as far as opening his eyes and lifting his head before he froze, his courage failing him. He’d tried to run once and it had gotten him nothing but a week spent sleeping in alleyways, terrified and alone, and then this; if he tried it again, it would only get worse, and he really didn’t want to try to imagine what worse might mean when Nikola was involved. He didn’t think he’d be lucky enough for her to kill him.

Nikola stepped in front of him, the red of her jacket bright against the stark black of the crowd behind her. It looked like someone had taken a knife and cut a gash in the darkness, leaving behind a person-shaped wound that waved its hands elegantly at the crowd and turned to smile at Martin with stolen lips. 

Her face was whole this time, at least, but everything about it still looked slightly wrong. He could see the places where someone had stitched it together with light, silken thread, and he tried not to think about whether or not he’d seen that nose or those cheeks anywhere before. Tears spilled from the corners of his eyes and Nikola's smile widen.

“Look how ready he is!” He could feel the crowd grin viciously and lean forward in their seats, hanging on her every word. She put a gloved hand beside her mouth and continued in a whisper that managed to echo through the tent, “This is going to hurt a lot, but don't worry. That’s why I asked your friends to be here. For moral support.”

“What?” Martin finally spoke, his voice high-pitched and panicked. The crowd’s laughter washed over him in a vicious wave, the pure glee in it making his eyes sting. 

“You kept saying you wanted to see them. Asking if they were alright, even though we all knew what a stupid question that was. And you didn't even stop when I let you see Tim,” Nikola reminded him, voice a sing-song as she stepped back and gestured in front of them with a dramatic wave of her hand. “So, here they are!”

For one brief, hopeful second, all he could see was darkness and the not-there form that he knew was the crowd. Then, there was a click and a spotlight shone down into that darkness, lighting up a row of chairs set at the edge of the crowd. Seated on them were his friends--Jon, Tim, Melanie, Basira. They were all there, staring at him with expressions that ranged from angry and horrified to broken and carefully neutral. A small part of him hoped that one of them would do something to put a stop to this, to save him, but the part of him who had spent months trapped in that small, dark room knew that they wouldn’t. 

He hadn’t done anything for Tim, not really, so he didn’t know why he expected anyone to make the effort for him.

“I told you they were all still in one piece, didn’t I?” She grinned at him and a dimple stood out on her cheek. Martin couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be there or if this face didn’t fit her quite as well as it should. “Physically, anyway. Which is really about as good as you’re going to get around here.”

The crowd tittered silently behind her, and Martin shifted against the platform, trying to angle his head so he couldn’t see the look on any of his friends’ faces.

“Right, then. I think that's more than enough build up, don't you?” Nikola stepped to the side, giving the crowd in front of them an unobstructed view as she waved her hand dramatically, gesturing toward Martin. “It’s time to welcome the other star of our show!”

There was a soundless gasp from the crowd and Martin knew they were staring at something in the space behind him, even before he heard the quiet shifting of the sand covering the tent floor beneath too-large feet. He wanted to turn his head and look, but instead he stayed there, frozen in terror; even at this distance, he could see the way Melanie and Jon’s eyes widened as they took in whatever it was behind him.

He felt something brush against his back, like a human hand, but cold and limp and wrong. There was a puff of cold air against the back of his neck as a voice said, “I’ve got two tickets to the show. Would you like one?”

Martin swallowed and tried to press himself harder against the podium, wishing he could disappear into it.

The voice spoke again, tone detached and inflectionless, like a bad copy of what a human might sound like to something that had never been one itself. “I’ve got two tickets to the show. Would you like one?”

“No,” Martin whispered. It was stupid, to think that it really wanted his answer, or that what he wanted mattered in this place filled with monsters, but he still couldn’t stop himself from saying it. “I don’t.”

“Poor thing, he still thinks he might have a choice.” Nikola's laughter echoed through the tent, golden and utterly delighted, and the crowd followed suit. The air around him shook with the quiet of it. “I guess it’s time to remind him that you never get a choice with monsters. Especially not when _I’m_ one of them.”

He felt something large and dark and damp wrap around his waist, lifting him from the platform and into the air until his feet no longer touched the floor. He grabbed for it, trying to push it off of him, but his hands passed through it, leaving his fingers to claw at his own stomach. Daniel watched him from his place at the head of the podium, a slight smile on his face and his glassy eyes reflecting the dark outline of whatever it was that held him.

Martin kicked out, hoping to hurt it enough to free himself, too caught up in his fear to remember reason. His feet found nothing but more empty air and it flipped him over, tossing him around like a rag doll and down onto his back against the podium. Whatever was around his waist still gripped him, holding him down, but it wasn’t necessary; the form that he saw hunched over him was enough to make him go still and forget to fight.

The thing towering over him was wrapped in darkness, its edges both too-sharp and indistinct, like staring through a telescope that hadn’t been adjusted properly, so he could see too much and not enough all at once. His mind refused to make sense of any of it. He thought he could make out a grin, full of rows upon rows of long, sharp teeth, but as soon as he thought he saw it, it was gone again and he was left wondering if it had ever been there at all. The rest of the figure swam in and out of his view, hidden by the darkness surrounding it. The only things about it that seemed to remain constant were the tiny points of light that haloed what could have been its head, floating around its edges like filaments drifting through dark water.

In one of its long, thin hands it held a shape that he thought was meant to be a person, its face pale and almost featureless, like an unfinished doll. Beneath that blank face was a body, hanging there like a dead weight, arms and legs pale and lifeless as it swayed gently side to side in the creature's grasp.

He felt the same cold, unnatural touch from earlier as one of the not-person's hands brushed against his stomach. He couldn’t see the creature behind it move, too entranced by the gentle swaying of those lights and that pale, unfinished body, but he knew that it was getting closer.

Something wound its way around each of his legs, twin tendrils of the same dark dampness still encircling his waist. They forced his thighs apart, spreading him wide, and he heard a noise somewhere to his right, something low and angry that might have come from Tim or Jon or even Melanie. He didn’t turn his head to look, trapped by nothing and unable to do more than lie there and stare at the lights drifting above him, just out of his reach.

The body and its blank face swayed closer, like a lover leaning in to share a secret. “Would you like one?”

“No,” Martin repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. He thought he saw the flash of the creature's teeth through the darkness as something large and cold and wet settled between his thighs. It unfurled itself slowly until it was stretched out against him, touching him in several places at once, like a large, wet hand.

“Would you like--” it repeated and he felt that hand fold back in on itself, whatever passed for its fingers pressing together as it probed him, testing, then pushed forward to settle inside of him.

The pain made it easy to remember how to struggle, his body’s need to stop whatever was hurting him overcoming his fear and the hypnotic shine of the lights floating above him, but it was too late. The creature’s grip on his legs tightened and it pushed its hand further inside him, deep enough that he thought he might split in two. 

It was so much bigger than Daniel’s fingers had been, felt even bigger than both his human-sized fists could have managed. He screamed, wishing he was back on that bench instead. At least when it had been Daniel’s fingers, he’d known that there was only so far that they could reach inside of him; he had no idea if the creature inside of him now even had a beginning or an end. 

He started to cry, loud sobs that carried across the empty silence of the tent to the crowd, who gasped in awe and craned their necks to see better. He could feel their anticipation as they watched the creature bury itself further inside of him; they all waited to see if it would break him.

Just when he thought he’d taken all he could handle the movement stopped, and he felt the great, formless hand inside of him shaping itself into a fist. It didn’t give him time to do more than gasp in pain before it started to move, in and out at an almost painfully slow pace, like it was taking its time to explore him.

A hand touched his head and he remembered Daniel, still standing somewhere above him, watching everything with his glassy eyes. His touch wasn’t what Martin would have called comforting, but it was enough to distract him momentarily, and he took the opportunity to plead with him, words escaping him in an incoherent tumble that even he couldn’t make sense of.

Daniel leaned forward until Martin could see his face and the hint of a smile that still lingered there. “Relax. It should be over soon.”

“I can’t,” Martin said, the words trailing off into a half-moan, half-sob as the creature started to move faster inside him. The pain had started to fade a little, just enough that he could feel his body starting to respond to the stimulation, his cock half-hard where it rested against his stomach. He reached up, wrapping a hand around Daniel’s wrist, clinging to it. “Please, make it stop.”

Daniel’s smile was almost kind as he shook his head and stroked his thumb over Martin's forehead. The gentleness of it made the harsh way the creature was fucking him seem even worse. 

It went on like that for what felt like an eternity, the creature’s fist thrusting in and out of him roughly and Daniel’s wrong-feeling fingers running back and forth against his skin. He could hear Nikola’s voice and feel the excitement and hatred of the crowd, but it all faded into static as his body demanded all of his attention. His cock was fully hard now, leaking onto his stomach; he clenched his fists at his sides and did his best to ignore it, wondering if the others could see it from where they were seated, or if they’d all turned their heads and were politely looking away. Like he’d managed to spill tea on his desk again and they were trying to pretend that it hadn’t happened so that they wouldn’t be expected to offer to help him clean it up.

The creature gave a particularly vicious thrust inside him and he screamed, back bowing as he felt himself come. Daniel’s hand slid up to rest against his bare scalp, stroking it gently until Martin shivered and went still, his sobs quieter than before. The creature gave one last thrust and then withdrew its hand from him just as quickly as it had entered, leaving him filthy and sore and in full view of his friends and the formless crowd surrounding them.

“See? I told you he was special,” Nikola said, voice full of a dark satisfaction. “I hope you’ve all enjoyed yourselves as much as I have.”

Martin could hear the shuffling of feet as the others were forced to stand and then lead away. It was the only thing, aside from his soft sobs, that broke up the wave of deafening quiet as the crowd started to applaud.

\--

When he woke, he was back in his room, his head on Daniel's thigh and one of those strange, leathery hand resting against the back of his neck. The room smelled of smoke and sweat and dead flowers and Daniel was seated on the floor beside him, a pile of cigarette butts beside his thigh. He didn’t bother looking at him as he stubbed out his current cigarette and pulled another from his pack. “That went better than I thought it would.”

Martin laughed, the sound broken and more than a little hysterical. “It did?”

“The crowd seemed to like you.” Daniel shrugged. “Nikola’s pleased.”

“I guess I should be happy, then,” Martin said, his laughter fading away as he turned his head to stare up into Daniel’s lifeless eyes. The way he spoke was more gentle than he was used to, and Martin let himself believe, however briefly, that that actually mattered. “Does this mean she won’t make me into one of you?”

“Not yet.”

Martin let out a low breath, trying to decide if that made him feel better or worse. “Does it hurt?”

“More than anything.” Daniel moved his hand from the back of Martin’s neck and lit his cigarette. “Until it stops, and then nothing ever hurts again.”

Martin watched the smoke from Daniel’s cigarette curl in the air above him. “I think I’d rather be dead.”

“I don’t think that’s an option.” Daniel offered him the cigarette and looked briefly surprised when Martin took it from him. 

Martin took a drag, coughed, and then handed it back to him without comment. 

Daniel smiled down at him, wide and knowing.


End file.
